My stepmother called me at the end of the day, her voice so smug I could practically hear the smile on her lips, and told me that from now on I would never be allowed to set foot in the family beach house again because she had already changed every lock.

She appeared in the doorway and saw my face before looking at the empty closet floor. “What was supposed to be there?” she asked.

“A cedar chest that belonged to my mother,” I explained. “It was here the last time I stayed over in November,” I added.

Victoria’s voice floated up from the hall before I even saw her. “If you are about to accuse me of stealing some old box, do not embarrass yourself,” she said.

I stepped into the hallway and looked her in the eye. “Where is it, Victoria?” I demanded.

She looked me over with a cool expression. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she lied.

Cassandra, standing at the far end of the hall, glanced away too quickly. I saw the guilt in her face for a flickering second.

“Cassandra, you know where it is,” I said. She folded her arms even tighter than before.

“I don’t know anything about it,” she claimed. “You just looked at the floor, and that means you know exactly where it is,” I countered.

Victoria stepped between us and tried to block my view. “Stop interrogating my daughter right now,” she snapped.